My Friends
by FreakingZebra
Summary: If you were to look at Arthur Kirkland, you would probably say he didn't have many friends. He was cold, harsh, and bitter towards anyone who tried. But he wasn't always like that, and has more friends than himself or anyone could realise. He just never got the time to really remember... A series of one-shots between Arthur and the other nations. No pairings, but friendships.


** I decided to write a story about how England interacts with the other countries. Since it is often shown he argues with most of them I figured it would be nice to see the friendship he was with them. It will go in chronological order from him being a small child to the present. Also when he is with other countries it will be with will be in a non-romantic way – I want to keep this story open to everyone and not focus upon pairings etc.**

** I hope you enjoy~******

Rated T due to possible gory scenes or bad language

Characters: England and France

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Albion ran through the forest as fast as his small legs would take him. He dodged each rock and root sticking out from the ground since he knew the forest so well he could run through it blind and still reach safety. His small green cloak was held tightly around him, hood drawn up over his face and the trail ending just above his knees, dirt worn feet pattering softly against the leaves as he risked a look behind him.  
"Albion! Won't ye come to yer big brother? Like a good boy yeah?" the loud call of his brother Alba sounded, causing the small child to gasp for breath as he pushed on harder through the trees. Seeing there could be no way to outrun him, since his legs were rather too short, he turned sharply to the right, grabbing on the bark of a tree and heaving himself up. Once on the first branch, he quickly scrambled up not caring if he got scratched or the scabs on his fingers pulled away again, nimbly making his way up till his was a safe distant from the ground. Holding his back against the tree trunk, he pulled his knees close to his body and hood over his face, stilling his breathing as the footsteps of his brother came closer.  
"We're are yer, ye lil' shit. I ain't running all over for yer sorry lil' arse." Albion could hear, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to mask his hiding place. "If yer don't come out right now, I'll beat yer instead. Sound fair?"  
Now very frightened, the young boy hugged himself tightly, biting down on his lip to prevent a flow of tears to fall, so hard in fact that he drew blood. Pausing, he listened out for the whereabouts of his brother, when he heard the sound of more feet following. Was it his other brothers? Sassana usually preferred to help once he'd been caught, and Cymru barely liked to include himself at all. He was still quite young Albion mused, only a few years older than himself. He just couldn't figure out who the other person could be.  
"You are looking for a small blond boy, non? About 4? He went that way, I am sure of it." a strange voice sounded, making Albion's nose wrinkle up in confusion. He had never heard an accent like that before. He removed the cloak ever so slightly from his eyes, peeking down at the ground to see who it could be.  
It was an older boy, older than Alba though it didn't seem by much. He looked about 9, though he could not really tell since he realised he'd never seen anyone else apart from his brothers. The boy was dressed weird too, a longer tunic with pretty appliqué of flowers and swirls, a pair of brown shirts underneath. As his eyes trailed up, he saw the boy had long blond hair, down to just above his shoulders in waves of gold, tied back in a lose ponytail as if the owner could not have cared much about their appearance. Although that made Albion think - if these clothes were just 'normal', special clothes must be laden with silver and gold. And little Albion didn't even have special clothes.  
He pricked up his ears to overhear the conversation, letting out a small sigh of relief as he watched his older brother turn on his heel and run in the opposite direction. Away from him.  
He'd escaped - at least this time.  
"Mon ami, why do you hide up there? Will you not come down?" the face of the other boy who'd led his brother away poked up through the leaves of the tree, smiling kindly. He found himself staring into his bright blue eyes, and his hair and beautiful clothes - and wondered whether this was what was meant by 'pretty'.  
"You speak funny." was the first thing he said in reply, regarding the boy with a curious look. The others face broke into a smile, laughing at the remark.  
"Yet to me, you speak funny non? I am Francis, country of France. What about you?" he extended a hand to help him down, but Albion only frowned at him.  
"You made a funny noise, too." he stated defiantly, confusion spreading over his face. "It was sort of like...ha ha...ha?" he struggled over the sounds, looking towards 'Francis' for an answer. Now it was his turn to look shocked.  
"You have not heard laughter before?" he questioned concernedly, as Albion made his way down the tree, jumping onto the ground and brushing himself down. He looked up with innocent bright eyes.  
"No. Well, my brothers sometime but yours is a lot prettier." he said, holding out a hand for the bewildered boy to shake. "My name is Albion, son of Britannia." he said, pulling up his hood and taking out a small wooden bow and arrow from underneath his cloak, tip toeing silently away from Francis.  
"Hey, where do you think you're going?" he called after, as the little boy made his way along the forest path - bare feet walking through stinging nettles and thorns without much of a worry. He whipped round to face Francis, frowning.  
"Hunting of course. Unless you want me to starve?" he bit back sarcastically, holding a finger to his lips as to not scare away any possible prey. Francis frowned and folded his arms.  
"Why were you running away from that other boy? Your brother?" he wondered out loud, not leaving Albion alone any time soon which only seemed to infuriate the boy further. He huffed, making his way into a small clearing and sitting down on a small wooden stump, pulling back his hood and placing his bow and arrow next to him.  
"Alba wants to bath me." he said firmly, looking away from the other boy who sat down in front of him.  
"He seemed a bit angry to me." France replied. Albion turned his head away, biting down on his lip drawing blood once more in an attempt to not cry.  
"Alba hates me, and Hibernia and Cymru too. Bathing to them consists on holding me under water until I nearly passed out. Not like mama used to to do nicely." he replied bitterly, drawing up his knees to his chest. Francis fell silent for a moment - he'd lost his own mother too of course a century back, but he'd been looked after by his people well since and was old enough to do so by himself anyway. He smiled sadly as he watched the small child curl himself tightly, body shivering as he sobbed into the sleeve of his shirt.  
"Hey, mon petit lapin - don't cry. How about I take you back to my house? I can give you a good bath with warm water and a good hot meal too! How does that sound, hmm?" he suggested, standing up and holding out a hand for him to take. He looked up at the offering hand, sniffing once.  
"W-what do you want? Money? Land?" he inquired, slowly backing away from the outstretched hand. Francis face turned from one of kindness to concern.  
"Petit lapin, I do not wish you any harm I only wish to help you." he pressed on, still holding the hand out for him to take. Albion paused and stared at the hand, and then Francis. When his brothers wanted to bathe him, or beat him - they looked angry and spat in his face, laughing darkly. But Francis...Francis, Albion decided, was nothing like that. His bright blue eyes seemed calm like the small lake in the woodland glade, and he did not spit at him or laugh. His hand was opened out towards him, not shaking with anger or balled into a fist - but welcoming, as if he truly wanted to help. Frowning curiously, he reached out his hand to take Francis' outstretched, other fingers still on his bow, and discovered something that shocked the little boy.  
His hand fitted perfectly into Francis'.  
For the first time a long while, Albion felt himself smile. It felt a little odd to begin with, but soon his face had split into a huge grin and was laughing, laughing alongside Francis.  
"Your laugh is so beautiful mon cher." Francis told the boy with a smile, Albion only replying with a large grin as his held him arm to his mouth in an attempt to hold back a giggling fit.  
"I've a friend!" he cried out happily, reaching out his arms for Francis to take. "Thank you!" Francis lifted him up with ease and the small boy wrapped his arms around the Frenchman's neck, clinging onto him tightly as he buried his face into the fabric of his robes. The laughing quietened down as the two nations focused on just holding the other - content at the warmth and the calm breathing of each other as they stood in the small glade for what seemed like eternity. Finally, Albion broke away and looked up at Francis shyly, still held in his arms.  
"Francis, will you be my new big brother?" he asked curiously, chewing nervously on one of his fingers. Francis took the small wooden log and sat down, sitting Albion on his lap with the other hand up behind the younger head to comb through the mess of hair on the boy with his fingers.  
"Of course, Albion. But I have a question to ask of you - what is your name?" he replied, staring into Albion's eyes sternly as if a teacher picking on a student who he knew hadn't understood the topic. Albion froze and suddenly became very uncomfortable in Francis hold. Maybe this had been a trick after all, he thought.  
"I-I don't know..." he replied softly, playing with the hem of his white tunic. "Will Albion not do?" he asked offended. Francis only smiled sadly and shook his head.  
"Non, each nations has their countries name and a human name. My name is Francis but I am the country of France. Antonio for example is the country of Spain. You are the country of Albion - but what is your name?" he repeated in a greater depth, hand falling to rest of the boys' knee. He shrugged miserably.  
"How should I know..." he mumbled moodily, looking at his feet as if they were now the most interesting thing to watch.  
"Would you like a name then, Albion?" he asked, smiling kindly. Albion's eyes looked up into Francis', hope shining through them at the thought. He nodded eagerly. Francis looked up above him and sighed deeply as he mused over a name. "How about Arthur, mon cher? It suits you well." he suggested. Arthur now smiled, and nodded.  
"Yes. It's nice to meet you Francis, my name is Arthur."

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**N/A: I wasn't quite sure on the ancient name for Ireland, so I settled for Hibernia (which is the Latin name for it so it doesn't really work but never mind). Alba is Scotland of course and Cymru is obviously Wales ^-^ Please leave comments behind and let me know what countries you would like to see England with, any support is much appreciated! I shall hopefully be updating this story once a week if I can. **

**Next Chapter: Italy and England**


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